Going Back
by aggressive-pepsi
Summary: In an effort to "take Bucky's burden" after the events of TWS, Steve makes a deal with a demon. Only instead of just taking his pain, the two go back in time, where many things happen. About six months into their new life, Steve starts seeing black dogs everywhere he goes and Bucky suddenly falls ill. With Bucky dying and his time running out, Steves gotta find a way to fix it all.


On some things, he could relate, like how even the couch was too soft, how the sound of a cat backfiring would send them both sprawling. On others he couldn't. Steve couldn't understand his need to compulsively check every room in the house daily for bugs, or why whenever he brought his companion food or water Bucky would drop to his knees in front of him, mouth open. Steve didn't want to- didn't want to know what compelled Bucky to act this way.

On good days, Steve would smile, hold Bucky's hand or shoulder, and tell him it would be okay He would tell him he didn't need to shoulder the burden of what happened to him alone. On bad days though, more often than not, Steve would be the one crying the most, would be the one saying that things weren't fair. On bad days, Steve would feel like he carried all the weight. He had no idea how Bucky felt. He was afraid to know. Afraid that if he told him, that little extra on top of his guilt would shatter him. So he didn't ask. Bucky didn't offer. Until he did.

His head was kept low as usual, only looking up to glance at Steve drawing, headphone in one ear. It had been nearly six months since he came to stay with him, came back home, but still, there was something wrong, something that clearly kept him from settling. Bucky thought he knew what it was.

"It… Wasn't… your fault…" He said softly, words slow and practiced. He made note of his heart rate picking up and tried to use his training to quell it, to steady himself, but it was no use.

Steve looked up from his pencil drawing and pulled the ear bud out, shifting so he was more fully facing Bucky. "What? I didn't quite catch that."

Bucky huffed, and tried to repeat his words. "It wasn't…. wasn't your fault." He stated again, and clarified, "What happened to me."

As usual, the very mention of what happened while Bucky was with HYDRA made Steve's eyes grow a little distant. Even worse was the twist of deep-seated guilt Steve felt about it. Even with Bucky directly telling him that it wasn't his fault, Steve believed it was.

"Buck-"

"No, Steve." He interrupted, and just doing so made his head spin and his stomach lurch. But he knew he had to, or Steve would go off about how sorry he was. "Is not about you." He gave up trying to conceal the accent forced on him by his time in captivity, gave up trying to pretend it was easy to speak in clear English still, no matter how he knew it made Steve feel. He needed to tell him the truth. All of the truth.  
"I know don't like me to be scared." He began, voice wavering. "But. But even before, have been scared." Bucky's hands were shaking, so he stuffed them in his pockets. "And even. And even if wasn't always scared, I…"  
He swallowed hard and shook his head. "I chose to pick up your shield. Chose to even though knew was not trained. Chose to use unfamiliar weapon when could have just thrown it to you, or covered with own. But did not. Have made peace with that."

"But I couldn't save you." Steve replied, chest tightening. "I should have reached out farther, should have moved faster or-"

"Then you would have fallen too." Bucky snapped. "Then HYDRA would have you. They would have you, the only person who kept the war from being lost. Only one who could have stopped Red Skull. Read the reports."

"I would have fought harder, I would have-" Steve started, but Bucky stood up.  
"Fought harder? Steve, was no fighting them! I would know! You _don't_ know what would have happened!" He was surprised to hear his voice so loud, so harsh, and he quieted it. "Would have been nothing but pain for whole world, Steve. Made a sacrifice, was prepared to when walked into battle that day."

"I never asked for that much!" Steve replied just as loud at Bucky's was at first, standing up. "I didn't ask for you to go through what you did! I should have done more to stop it!"  
"Neither did I!" Came the reply, louder and screeching. "But is not like you would _know_ what I went through! Have never asked, like don't care!"

"Of _course_ I care!" Steve replied, and stomped his foot for emphasis. But that little act of aggression triggered something in Bucky's mind, and suddenly he was on his knees again, folded in on himself with his head down. He kept his hair in his face and trembled.

"Yes sir…" he breathed, and the voice that came out was broken and fearful. He tried to make himself smaller, as if he believed he was unworthy to take up so much space.

Steve hadn't even realized they were yelling at each other until that moment. He knelt down beside Bucky, who flinched away from his touch.

"I'm not going to hit you, Buck…" Steve said quietly, tormented by the look the other was giving him- nothing short of absolute terror.

"Y-yes sir, of course sir," came the reply, pitch high out of fear.

Steve stood up slowly, not wanting to make things worse with sudden movements. Still, Bucky flinched. "I'm going for a run…" Steve said, walking towards the door. "I'll give you some space to calm down…"

No reply came, and Steve didn't wait for one. He felt guilty enough already and didn't need one. He walked out the door and closed it behind him without even looking back.

Without a running partner or music to occupy his mind, Steve's thoughts wandered, warped and twisted the situation into something even worse. Over and over again he watched the fall in his mind, picking it apart piece by piece. The closest thing beyond that was how he found him in the work camp before that. He remembered how dazed he must have been, how he had to have been suffering. He had no clue exactly how bad it was.

What Steve did know, or at least believed, was that what happened to Bucky was his fault. He knew in his mind that if he had just reached a little farther, if he had reached out sooner, moved faster, his friend would have been okay. With a guilt complex that could rival a Catholic's, Steve pushed himself on his run, going off the usual trail. He ran until his body and lungs ached, until he had to stop. He ran in penance.

By the time he stopped it was dark. The old soldier was dripping with sweat, or maybe it was rain. He couldn't remember. Steve just knew his body was screaming at him, that he needed to stop before he collapsed completely. He stood, panting and doubled over, on a dirt road, far outside the city limits. He had been running for hours on end. Steve took a glance to the stars, breathing out a desperate "please".

Suddenly, Steve became acutely aware of another presence. He stood upright quickly, head spinning from the sudden posture change.

"Woah son," the other person said, taking a step forward, passing over the center of the crossroads on which the two stood alone. "Take it easy, I don't mean any trouble."

"Who are you?" Steve snapped, taking a defensive stance. He didn't know if he was about to get mugged or not, but better safe than sorry. "What are you doing here?"

"Just… A local." The other replied with a sly grin, kicking at the dust on the road. "And I could ask you the same thing. You were yelling pretty damn loud the whole way, Mr. Rogers." They could tell Steve was about to protest when they held their hands up in a passive pose. "Now you might not remember, but the whole way, you were yelling pretty loud about your boyfriend."

"He's not-"

"I know, I know, just a friend. They always say that you know." The figure chuckled and rocked on their heels, grinning. They brushed with one hand their long dark hair out of their face. "But whatever he is to you, I might be able to offer some assistance."

Steve paused. "What… what do you mean?"

Another wicked grin. They tucked one hand into the pocket of their blazer and spoke again. "The whole way here once you passed the city limits, you were just screamin for God or anyone to help you how t' help your 'friend'. Let you switch places, even. Well it's you're lucky day Captain, because I just happen to specialize in that very thing."

More hesitation from Steve. Something about this was setting off alarm bells in his mind. "What... are you talking about?"

They chuckled and shook their head, and took a few steps closer to Steve, who in his concentration, had relaxed his aggressive stance. "Why, switching your places, of course. I can give you and your Bucky a chance at a new life. The only catch is that you need to take on his burdens. That and one other thing."

"You're a demon." Steve replied, finally putting two and two together.

"I'm neither confirmin' nor denyin'," the figure replied, but the grin on their face seemed to say otherwise. "But what I can say is that I can give you what you want, what you really need. All I ask is to collect when the contract's up."

Steve, on one hand, knew dealing with demons was a horrible idea. Absolutely without a doubt an awful terrible idea. But on the other, he knew Bucky was suffering, and he wanted to make it stop. He wanted to take away all that pain, and if that meant he had to take it on himself, so be it.

"You have a deal."

The figure chuckled and reached out to shake Steve's hand. "You remind me of two boys my little brother spends a whole lot of time around," they said as they shook, and grinned.

Steve didn't respond to that. He didn't care about this creature's siblings or their friends. He just wanted to help Bucky. "So what now?"  
"Just go home." They replied. "Go home and go to bed. Do anything you want to do before you sleep tonight. It'll be the last night you have in this life. I recommend meaningful confessions."

Steve didn't get a chance to speak in reply, because by the time his brain had finished processing the words, the other was gone with the sound of wings in flight. In the same instant, Steve found himself standing outside his apartment. He sighed, tried to ignore the rush of guilt he felt for leaving Bucky alone this long, and walked up the stairs to go back home.

Bucky had calmed down after a few hours of panic. He felt cold and hurt. He had tried to talk out his feelings for Steve's sake, and all it did was get the two into a fight. One part of his brain insisted that he was being abandoned, since Steve's runs never lasted more than an hour, and it had been several. He was left alone with that part of his brain for those hours, the part that snapped and laughed at him, that lied to him. The worst part is that logically, Bucky knew it was lying. But at the same time, how could he be sure? It had been right once or twice before, and his idea of reality wasn't exactly the most solid. He was wrapped with doubt and worry and self-loathing.

He tried to distract himself, to make dinner in case Steve came home. He didn't actually remember how to cook anything, but he made an attempt. He ended up just making two microwave dinners. Bucky sat down and waited, hoping for Steve to come home. If he was coming back, he didn't want to start eating without him.

Thankfully, he didn't have to wait long. Steve came up the steps and unlocked the door just moments after he sat down.

"Bucky…?" Steve called, closing and locking the door behind him. "I uh… I'm home…"

The former assassin was on him in an instant. He actually knocked over his chair in his rush to get to the door, to get to Steve, who he was convinced had left him there to die. He pulled him into a tight hug, shaking at his core.

Steve could feel the fear through Bucky's body, knew how bad he felt through that contact- contact that was a huge step in his recovery. Steve hugged him back just as tightly, trying to pull the fear out of the other and take it into himself. It didn't work.

But Bucky was glad Steve was home, glad he wasn't going to leave him there alone. "Am sorry for yelling…" he whispered, and made no move to let go of the other. Steve just pulled him closer in reply.

"Me too, Bucky…" He breathed, and placed a kiss on the other's forehead. "I'm sorry for all of that…"

Before Steve could get on a spiral of self-hate, Bucky looked up. "Tried to make dinner…"

Steve smiled at Bucky. "Really?" he asked, pulling back to look at the other, but still didn't quite let go. "That's so nice of you, Buck… I hope I didn't miss it." It was a huge step, the other taking steps for their autonomy.

Bucky smiled, something soft and genuine. "Just finished when you got home." He said with a tilt of pride in his voice, something Steve hadn't heard since back in their Brooklyn days. "Is on the table if you want."

"I'd be glad to have dinner with you, I'm starving."

After dinner, Steve glanced out the window. He noticed for the first time in a while how the leaves on the trees gently danced in the midnight wind. He noticed the crisp yet distant lights of the rest of the city, a city he might not see again when he woke up. He had no idea what to expect. Would they be going back to the beginning? Going back somewhere else? Would he wake up tomorrow in the hands of HYDRA? He didn't know. But what he did know was that Bucky, tomorrow morning, would be free of his burden. And that's what mattered, at least to Steve.

The hand on his arm, a touch gentle as a feather, broke him from his pensiveness. "Mmm?" He responded, turning to face the long-haired man who got his attention. "Bucky, I thought you were heading to bed..."

Bucky shifted where he stood. "Was. Was wondering, if, uhm…" He started, hesitant about his request. "I uhm…. Do not feel very real, right now… Was wondering if could sleep beside you?" He bit his lip and only now looked at Steve, though his head was still tipped low. "Feel real when you're around, usually."

Steve gave a gentle smile and took Bucky's hand. "Yeah, you can sleep beside me." He agreed, and noticed the small smile on the other's face at his words. "Let's get to bed, alright? You look tired." And tomorrow would be a big day.

The two walked silently, hand in hand to Steve's bedroom, a small place compared to the large living room, but the size always made Steve feel more secure.

Letting Bucky head to the connecting bathroom, Steve took off his shoes and shirt, letting his toes curl in the grey-blue carpeting. Despite the callouses on the bottom of his feet, it still felt soft, a small comfort. He wondered if he would feel it again. He wondered why he felt everything so acutely all of a sudden, why every breath he took he felt, why every thread in his pajama bottoms (an old pair of shorts) felt like an ice stripe laid across his skin.

Steve settled into the covers, leaning back and reveling in the feeling of his silk sheets. They were nice, and he had been taking them for granted lately. He had been taking a lot of things for granted.

Bucky came back not long after and slipped in beside Steve, hesitant to get close it appeared. Steve just inched a little closer to give Bucky silent permission, not any pressure, in case he just wanted his space. But at the prompt, the other slid right up to his bedmate, wrapping his arms around him. Steve smiled and did the same, pulling Bucky close.

The way they were laying, Bucky's metal arm draped across his shoulder and back. It was heavy and cool, but not cold against his bare skin. Steve smiled and felt a little better about going to sleep that night. He would be safe as he slept. And when he woke in the morning, things would be better.

Things would be different, so different, when he woke up. It suddenly hit him, and hit him hard, that he might not see Bucky after this night. Maybe he would start in the hands of HYDRA, so far away from the man he cared about so much. He might be alone.

"Bucky…?" Steve asked, realizing his voice was shaky, just a little, but noticeable. When he saw Bucky glance up, still holding him close, he hesitated. But he needed to let him know, for when he was gone, no matter if he did end up still near him when the morning light touched his face. He needed to tell him, so he would be sure to never forget.

"I love you, Bucky."

"I love you too, Steve."

And that was that.

There was no big fuss, no tears, no confusion. Just a confirmation of what the two knew was true for years. Steve smiled softly and let his eyes slip closed, and inched a little closer to Bucky, letting his warmth gently pull him into sleep. The gentle feeling of Bucky's breath slowing let him know the other also was drifting off, just as Steve let go into unconsciousness.

Steve's dreams weren't usually like this. He dreamt in solid concepts, in running and location and events. But tonight's dream, Steve stood alone in what looked like a white void, but felt like the line between worlds, like a foggy space nestled away somewhere else. Where else, he didn't know, he just knew it wasn't where he usually was.

The mist on the edges of the world, that were anywhere Steve wasn't taking up space, felt fuzzy, like the feeling one's whole body gets when they're on the edge of going under when given anesthesia. He called out, and his body felt like he was shouting, but not a sound came to his ears.

He tried to run but felt like he was caught up in something, that he was moving around but not forward. He thrashed and thrashed and he felt whatever held him tightening and tightening around him, and suddenly what felt like cotton strips turned to razor wire, digging in and tightening around his body.

Steve tried to scream, but no sound came out, even as the invisible bonds tightened and tore. He felt them closing around his throat and slowly making it harder to breathe…

He woke with a start, a small jump and a rattling, raspy breath. His sudden movement woke the other occupant in the bed.

"Mm? Stevie, what's the matter?"

The voice was familiar, with an accent that mirrored the one that Steve lost years ago. It took a moment to process, but the room was different. He couldn't actually smell the other's scent, as if his entire sense of smell was nonfunctioning as well. Most importantly was the difference in the eyes staring back at him.

He knew those eyes, bright and ready for the world. Hopeful and loving, and they were staring right at him, not hidden behind a long mop of hair. It was cut short, an old familiar form.

Steve tried to speak, but it came out as a choked whisper- not out of emotion, but because his lungs weren't functioning.

"Hey hey, hold on," insisted the brunette, and sat up to grab something from the windowsill on his side of the bed. Another difference- Steve's bed was set so that one could get in on either side, this one was pressed to the wall. 

Bucky dropped an inhaler in Steve's hand, who instinctively used it. That helped a little.

"Just let it settle." Bucky insisted, and laid back down, draping an arm over Steve. "It'll be fine now. It's only sunrise, get some rest."

Steve teared up a little. So this was his new life. He glanced over himself- and he was small. He had gone back to his old shape, which he detested in any life, but he put that out of his mind. Bucky was with him, and happy, safe. His Bucky. Steve inched a little closer, needing to be near the man he missed so badly.

Bucky picked up on it right away that Steve was upset. "Heya punk, what's wrong?" he asked, a little playfulness trying to disguise his worry.

"Just…" Steve said, just above a whisper. "..Just a bad dream."


End file.
